Title: Kaltbluetig "In Cold Blood"
Reviews appreciated, Flames extinguished.
Disclaimers: I do not own the X-Files or any of its delicious characters. I am simplty doing my part to keep the show alive in our hearts and minds forever more. So Chris Carter and 20th century Fox thank you for I want to believe with all the dibs to fanfiction writers out there, I assume with those gracious compliments to your screenplay you wish us to carry on. Ergo...please don't sue me you can have them back, I'm just borrowing them.
Chapter 1: The Hunted
Washington D.C. - Two weeks before Thanksgiving
Office of Fox Mulder & Dana Scully
There wasn't any way to get the office any warmer, even the portable heater under his desk seemed to be blowing cold air. Short of setting a fire in his filing cabinet, he was still shivering involuntarily.
He hated being sick, he likened it to being forced to watch the Teletubbies with his partner s nephew. Easily as painful, illness was something no grown adult should have to suffer through...ever.
Agent Fox Mulder's usually tame, regulation length, chestnut brown locks looked a little more askew than normal. Mulder was an obliviously handsome man, with a boyish grin and soulful hazel eyes, he was reduced to a crumpled lanky frame of wrinkled designer suits, a red nose only Rudolph could envy, and bewildered appearance.
Regardless of the temperature in the near arctic outdoors, perspiration slightly dotted his pensive forehead as he sat at his desk.
He could hear footsteps approach his office, he counted them as the taps hit the cement basement floor. He didn't have to look through the small plate of glass on his door to know who was now headed in his direction. He had come to know what those heavy footfalls represented.
Assistant Director Walter Skinner walked down the hall to Mulder's office. He could distinctly hear Mulder's hacking cough as it echoed through the narrow corridor.
"Agent Mulder, are you trying to develop your own tropical climate zone in this office?
"And a cheerful good morning to you too, sir." He Replied as he tried mockingly to stand at attention, but wavering as he stood, he realized quickly his intentions and what had been communicated from his brain to his body did not create a synapse.
"What part of "take your ass home" did you not understand?"
"I think specifically the part involving my ass sir. I'm quite partial to knowing its appropriate location at all times."
Skinner's eyes narrowed as he gently shoved Mulder back down into his chair.
"Everyone in this building has taken a vote, and either you leave or they leave. They are wagering about how long it will take before someone finds you passed out on the sidewalk since your partner is not here to make sure you do intelligent things, like stay home when you're sick.
They don't want anything to do with you" he continued.
What else is new? Mulder mumbled under his breath.
Skinner placed his cool, heavy hand on Mulder s forehead with an audible slap nearly knocking Mulder out of his seat with the unexpected contact. His skin felt very warm and dry.
"Open your mouth!"
"What for?"
"So I can take your temperature."
"Where in the hell did you find a thermometer in this building? Is that one of Scully's secret stashes? I swear that woman . . ."
"Open."
"I don't have a fever. I took some medicine before I came in to work." he whined as Skinner grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved the digital thermometer in his mouth.
"Are you going to give me a sponge bath too, Skin-
Man?"
"Call me that again, and I'll shove this thermometer in a less user friendly place. Now close your mouth."
Mulder adjusted the thermometer and sat quietly for about 15 seconds before it started beeping, as Skinner took it out of his mouth.
"102.3 Skinner could hardly contain the exasperated sigh. You ve got a high fever. Get your things and go home."
" I just got here, and I'm broke. Calling a cab is not an option. This stuff my doctor gave me damn near put me in the poor house. It makes me see little scantly clad women dance the cha-cha on my desk. And you know...that one over there is pretty hot, so, I think I'll just stay here, You can't beat that kind of free entertainment value. "
"I know you have money Mulder. He tugged on the wrinkled shirt Mulder had evidently slept in. You obviously don't spend it on dry cleaning, if you limit your porn dollars I'm sure you can muster up enough taxi fare to Alexandria. You are feverish, and hallucinating, you need to rest.
"How do you know I have money? he asked as his voice slurred minutely under the influence. I really forgot my wallet today, and it took an enormous amount of energy to get here."
"That should tell you something Agent Mulder. Get your crap together, I'll take you home."
"I've got things to do. Remember, we still have plenty of mutant killers to hunt down. I promise to stay in my own little basement ice-box of an office and try not to infect the masses. Besides it's just a cold, not the black plague."
"Mulder, you've been sick for days and you're just getting worse not better. You need to see a doctor or at the very least stay home until you feel better."
My doctor is on vacation he whispered to no one in particular.
Mulder you are going home. He said with finality.
Skinner looked at him seriously for a moment, waiting for the argument he was sure was coming. What he saw made his throat constrict a little tighter. As his superior, Skinner was not supposed to let human trivialities phase him, but somehow Mulder always seemed to get under his shell. He hated to see his best profiler out of his element, and as his friend he hated to see him in this kind of obvious distress.
Mulder was staring right through him, his eyes like glass. His clothes hung on the frame that usually fit their athletic owner. He wasn't hearing anything Skinner said, he was lost in his own thoughts, just attending without comprehending.
This man was very ill. He needed someone to take care of him, but everyone who could fill that need was gone.
It would seem that even his partner, and confidant had abandoned him for the simpler pleasures he would not allow himself to enjoy. When there was no argument about going home he closed the files on Mulder's desk, and laid a hand on his shoulder snatching him from his feverish daze.
"I will not have you spreading your cooties to everyone in this building. So this is your reprieve, curb service to your apartment." He continued.
Mulder picked up a slightly used tissue from his desk and blew his nose. Skinner's face contorted like a three year old girl who was just forced to lick a frog.
He grabbed two prescription bottles from his desk, and shoved them in the pocket of his trench coat.
"Are you going to carry me up to bed and tuck me in?" His voice rattled with a husky tone of congestion.
"Cut the crap Mulder! Let's go!" Skinner grabbed Mulder's closed leather case.
With a touch of a button, Mulder turned his computer off, and slowly, and seemingly without purpose, he shuffled out of his office as it was pitched into darkness with the flick of a switch.
Richmond near Alexandria VA
Not quite cold enough for snow, tiny sleet pellets dashed through the air sliding like cold teardrops on the car windows. Clouds huddled together in the sky as if trying to keep warm in the near absence of afternoon sunlight.
The ride to 2630 Hegal Place was near silent except for the intermittent crackle of an intruding voice from the car radio.
The sleet had nearly ceased falling as Skinner crossed on-coming traffic and pulled into one of the rarely available parking spaces at the front of Mulder's apartment complex.
Mulder had begun a light doze as his head lay against the frosty window. Skinner looked at the man asleep next to him. He looked so peaceful, and exhausted he hated to wake him. A known insomniac, Mulder took to sleep like a fish to a frying pan. Mulder s mouth hung wide open, a little bit of drool sliding from his mouth onto the door frame below. Skinner scrunched his nose at the thought of what dangerous contagion could be now staining his car s interior.
Skinner cleared his throat, and received no response. Mulder began to mumble to himself, and didn t seem to be waking up. He tried again in a deeper voice, shaking Mulder s shoulder to wake him from his slumber.
Agent Mulder, you re home.
His eyes flashed open and he seemed disoriented with his surroundings. Once he got his bearings, he rounded up his belongings and open the handle on the door. Skinner lightly grabbed his arm.
"I don't want to see you anywhere near the office until you've fully recovered. That means no fever, no cough, no sneezing. You are not to call, fax, e-mail or contact the office until you are your bubbly, warm, self again. And if I catch you at that office you'll be suspended without pay. Am I clear?" Skinner's voice never wavered, his eyes focused, staring at the weakened man beside him. The threat was an empty promise. He needed Mulder in working condition, and if this was the only way to assure it could happen, threatening him would have to do.
Mulder nodded his head regretfully and exited the vehicle.
Just as he was about to close the door, Skinner sneezed, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.
Skinner looked up at him accusingly, as Mulder shrugged his shoulders. If Skinner was coming down with what he had, Mulder would be on his shit list for the rest of his career.
"Thanks for the ride."
"Get out of my car, Now!"
Mulder smiled with nearly all thirty-two teeth showing, his eyes dancing like a little boy who'd just received a secret decoder ring message. He exited the vehicle, into the brisk 36 November air and climbed the steps to his apartment complex entrance.
He fumbled with the keys as they jingled in his hand, the visible heat radiating from the top of his uncovered head like steam.
Skinner watched him enter the door, and wave as he entered the building.
He stared at the tall, lanky, ailing agent as he disappeared from sight. Skinner sat staring at the closing door for a few moments. He wondered if the man had more food in his apartment than the last time he'd checked up on him. Mulder, it seemed, had more money than time, or necessity to take care of himself. He remembered the bare cabinets that donned Mulder's apartment after the death of his mother eight months ago, and wondered if his kitchen contained those same cans and expired Chinese food.
For an instant, he felt as if he should get out and make sure Mulder made it to his apartment okay. . . but only for an instance. He put the sedan in "drive" and slowly pulled away from the curb against traffic as an oncoming black four-door SUV nearly hit him. Skinner looked at the emotionless face of the driver.
"A-hole!" He mouthed soundlessly with the window rolled up. The car immediately took a turn into the alley between the two apartment complexes.
Skinner eyed the car suspiciously, glancing at his watch. At that moment his stomach reminded him he'd missed lunch. He turned up the voice on his radio and headed back to his office.
Well what you think? I actually started this story years ago and I finally finished. What should I do to my poor delicious Mulder now?